


Come Away With Me

by futurelounging



Series: FuLo's Other Outlander Tales [5]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, Character Death, F/M, Memories, Selkies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-18
Updated: 2018-09-18
Packaged: 2019-07-13 23:12:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16027964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futurelounging/pseuds/futurelounging
Summary: Brian Fraser remembers his life with Ellen and his children as his life ends.Anonymous prompt for Other Outlander Tales:"What was it like for Brian Fraser in his last moments? Was it really the sight of Jamie being punished that killed him?"





	Come Away With Me

“Brian, ye’ll no’ go runnin’ out there wi’ yer ire raised and hollerin’ or ye’re likely to end up with a hatchet in yer belly from scarin’ the lads. And mischievous as he may be, yer son would feel quite terrible, should he accidentally fell his own Da.” Ellen smirked and sipped her tea, her hand absentmindedly rubbing the swell of her belly.

He huffed and barked a loud laugh, shaking his head. “Have ye been reading the Old Testament again, woman? Are all those dark thoughts good for the bairn? Ellen Dubh, is it now?”

Her tactic had worked, and a satisfied smile grew on her face. Humor always worked on him. The more ridiculous, the better.

The night they met at Leoch, he’d kissed her in a dark alcove while the drunken clansmen lost themselves in music and fighting. The fear of being caught had buzzed through them, heightening their desire, electrifying their skin. She’d felt drunk on him instantly, and after he kissed her again, slower and deeper, his tongue seeking hers, she’d pulled away to catch her breath and said, “Now that ye’ve been inside me, there’s surely a bairn. Ye’ve no choice but to marry me, Brian Fraser.” The look of abject horror on his face was almost too much, and she used every ounce of energy to keep from bursting out laughing.

“No, ye canna be… We’ve not… Ye ken what I mean, do ye not?” he’d pleaded.

She’d held her expression as still as she could until her chin began to quiver, and her shoulders shook, the laughter begging for release.

He’d shaken his head then, a wide grin spreading over his face. “Oh, you are a wicked woman, I can see. Trouble and mischief are yer trades.” Her hair was wild, a red mass nestling her ivory skin. She’d snared him then, and he knew it. He was hers.

“I am too much trouble for these mere mortals. I kent ye were a selkie from the moment I spied ye across the hall, like ye’d just crawled up the rocks of the cliffside. And now that I’ve tasted the salt on yer skin, I’m certain it’s true. They are wisps of men next to you, Brian.” She’d drifted like a spirit from playful teasing to the solid stillness of her heart’s voice.

He’d kissed her again, his hands buried in her hair, wondering if it was his heart or hers that thundered in his ears. The words dropped from his lips to hers. “Come away with me then, and work yer mischief on me.”

Those memories settled in his belly while he stood in Lallybroch’s kitchen, his wife paging through a book while their unborn bairn pressed its heel into her ribs, eliciting a gasp from her. The joy that expanded in his chest at the thought of this next child was suddenly smothered by the crushing weight of loss, his eldest son’s death never leaving the air of their home. His death pressed in on every moment of happiness, greedy for attention. That was the way of things.

He remembered Willie’s feet, kicking madly as Brian pulled his tiny son out of the horse’s path only seconds before it would have trampled him. The lad’s wailing protest at his interrupted adventure took no notice of death’s ambitions. Death was a constant chill in the wind, Brian’s children running wild and free with no notion of its presence until it suddenly filled their lungs and took them.

“If ye’re sufficiently calmed, ye’d better get out there before we’re left with a yardful of dead chickens.”

Ellen’s words shook him free from the hold of his memories and he left her at once, legs picking up speed as he heard the lads’ hoots of excitement.

“I willna hit ye if ye lie down on the ground! Aye, hold the legs like that!” Jamie’s voice echoed off the side of the shed.

“It’s tryna bite me!” Ian’s shrill cry signaled the chicken’s success.

“Stop!”

Jamie froze, his hand raised just above his shoulder, hatchet cocked back as he readied to throw. Ian lay on the ground against the shed wall, his hands wrapped around the legs of a very angry chicken with what appeared to be a gourd tied to its head.

Jamie dropped the hatchet, his face pale and grim. Ian removed the gourd and let the chicken go, slowly standing to face Brian.

“Both of ye, to the fence. Now.”

The skin where the belt hit went white at first, then blood rose to the surface, a pink welt forming. Another and another until their legs shook and Brian’s hand ached from gripping it too hard, hating the feel of it reverberating against his palm. His stomach churned, and his arm hung limp at his side when he finished. He felt Ellen’s eyes on him, looking down from the bedroom. She’d be running her hands over her belly, cradling the innocent, whispering wordless reassurances to herself. To the bairn. To him.

He felt it now, as then, in his hands. Each blow of Randall’s whip to Jamie’s back brought back the ache in his hands. His muscles seized, tense and rigid with each ripple of Jamie’s arms grasping the rope to sturdy himself. And as Jamie’s legs gave out, as his blood drained from his body to pool at his feet, Brian’s body grew weak, his eyes unfocused, Jamie’s body a blur of red twisting on the platform. Another child cradled in death’s arms instead of his own.

The crunch of Brian’s knees on the mud-splattered stones shot pain through his limbs and he tried to throw his arm out, to catch himself against the ground, but it hung lifeless at his side and he fell forward into darkness.

His eyes opened briefly, retreating from the glare of the… He could not think what it was called, the bright thing next to the bed. It was too bright, and he closed his eyes again, relaxing into the darkness. Jenny’s voice flitted over him like a butterfly, her hands always moving, adjusting, comforting, cleaning.

“Drink.”

He’d forgotten to swallow when the water went into his mouth and it dribbled down his chin, pooling in the sweaty creases of his neck. She should be upset that he’d spilled, but she said nothing.

His thoughts fell apart whenever he gave them attention, slipping through cracks in his mind. His dreams were the only things left unbroken. Sleep was where he felt whole again.

One morning, sunlight burst through his eyelids and cast red demons on his eyes, his son’s body swaying in the slick red blood at his feet. “Jamie.”

“He’s alive, Da.”

He told his arms to wrap around his daughter’s frame. So small and so strong. But his body wouldn’t move as he willed it, and the terror of it pressed on his lungs, stealing his breath and drawing night over the room again.

He felt the chill in the wind, driving down his throat, choking away the warm whisper of Ellen’s breath he’d kept inside. His children ran wild around him, the flowering heather kissing their thighs. He’d crawled after them, too slow to catch them, until they disappeared from his sight and he was left alone on the cliff above the water.

“Will ye take me with ye back to the sea?” The wind had riled up her hair, the way he always imagined her.

His salty tears clung to his lips and he smiled at her. “Come away with me then.”


End file.
